Challenge Accepted
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Who knew inviting a known spy and prostitute to join the king's personal guard would end in such an interesting way? Especially since Wingul tried so hard to warn him… Follows the story of Mink's name change and induction into the Chimeriad, such as it is. T-and-a-half for Presa. I do not own Tales of Xillia!


_Further disclaimer, besides the whole "I don't own anything" deal: this may be considered OOC because their personalities and dynamics have not yet settled into what they are when the game begins._

_Keep in mind as you read that they are meeting as strangers; Wingul wants the best for his king whether Gaius likes it or not, Presa is still primarily concerned with her own satisfaction and the acquisition of sexual power over influential people with the intention of keeping herself safe, and Gaius _is _only human._

_All right, that's all for now. It would seem I've placed my traditional author's note at the beginning instead of the end. Anyhow, enjoy!_

* * *

Silence gradually filled the night, unfurling around the Daybreak Citadel. Streetlamps tossed their soft golden glow on empty cobblestone streets. A light and frigid breeze herded clouds towards the city, heavy with the promise of snow. A few glimmering stars peeked down at the sleeping world through windows in the clouds.

Only King Gaius lay awake, staring at the ornate ceiling he could not see; his eyes were filled with the future tomorrow would bring. Finalizing an alliance he unknowingly made long ago was not generally something he lost sleep over—but as Wingul was kind enough to point out multiple times, one could never trust a Rat.

It was true that he knew very little about the woman known as Mink, save that she was apparently responsible for obtaining a great deal of information on Rashugal's inner workings all by herself. But even that simple fact had taken a considerable amount of effort to uncover.

Tracing word of the development of a new military weapon to its source took much longer than anticipated. Wingul had heard it from the Aktau advisor; the Aktau advisor had heard it from the Rats; and the Rats were evidently not eager to confess the identity of their most elite agent, even to their king. It had taken their leader months to respond to his summons, and when he finally appeared before him, there was a definite reluctance in his words when he was forced to answer.

Whether their hesitation in revealing her identity was out of concern for her safety, worry that Gaius might recruit her for his own purposes—as he was planning on doing—or because she was not always as reliable as she had been of late, he had no idea. He would have to ask Mink herself, when she showed up.

And that assumed Wingul would not see her first and send her away. As much as he trusted his right-hand man, there were some aspects of his personality he could not look past—such as a ready willingness to go behind his back and act in his best interests without permission. (At least _Jiao_ was obedient.)

"But, Your Highness," Wingul had protested, when Gaius had made the mistake of telling him his intentions outright, earlier that week. "She's useful enough where she is. How would placing her by your side make any difference? The information you receive won't change." He glanced sideways at Gaius, and there were misgivings in his yellow eyes—many more than he was letting on.

"The Rats, as you've reminded me, are not trustworthy," was Gaius's only response; Wingul broke his gaze, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a Long Dau curse. "Removing her from their midst, and allowing her to gather information and report directly to me, would eliminate several sets of ears through which that information would have to travel, and lessen the chances of treason."

Gaius turned over in bed, breaking his train of thought. The first order of business, regardless of whatever objections Wingul might have to offer come morning, was to get some rest. Appearing as kingly as possible tomorrow was of the utmost importance. In that, at least, he and Wingul were always of the same mind.

* * *

Mink knew from repeated experience that first impressions were of paramount priority, and that to make a good one she would have to get some rest—but she would rather stay up and be exhausted than go to sleep and never wake up.

Being back at the Rats' headquarters was hardly comforting; she may have become their ace (with Nadia's secret assistance), but that didn't stop them from wanting her dead. They had wished her the worst ever since her complete and utter failure last year, and it never seemed to matter how much sensitive information she obtained—they always welcomed her with threats.

Steering her mind deftly away from Al, Mink turned the page, eyes skimming her list of incantations; she had to be at the very top of her game in every way possible, including channeling. If she had to fight her way out of Kanbalar for any reason, she wanted to have reviewed a few useful spells first. After all, she had not been told why the king wanted to see her, only that her presence had been requested the next evening. For all Mink knew, she would be executed tomorrow.

Come to think of it, being summoned in and of itself gave her at least some protection against her murderous peers, as everyone knew it would be suspicious if she never made her appointment. They wouldn't dare kill her unless they were certain no one would care, and risking the king's disapproval (especially as the nature of his summons was unknown) was never high on their to-do list.

Maybe it was safe to rest, after all…

Closing her book exhaustedly, Mink removed her glasses and rolled over to face the wall. Thoughts of whatever the king wanted would have to make way for a good night's sleep, and she could only hope the Rats didn't see fit to make sure it was her last.

* * *

Snow blanketed the world in purest white, and the swirling clouds above would soon offer more, but Gaius would not be deterred from walking in his garden. No matter how visible his breath was, or how much his muscles trembled in the chilly air, he refused to abandon his early-morning tradition. He was the king of a mighty nation he himself unified, and he would _not_ let a little bit of snow force him to put a shirt on!

"Good morning, Your Highness," greeted Jiao, startling him, and he turned around to face his subordinate. It was odd to think that when they had first met, only four years ago, the giant had severely injured Wingul in an attempt to assassinate his king—and here he stood, smiling, all gentle courtesy. "Did you sleep well?"

Gaius could only nod once and hope that would suffice; it would be decidedly undignified to respond if it meant his teeth would chatter. Jiao inclined his head slightly and made to turn away, but then glanced back at his king again, not without some amusement.

For a moment, Gaius wondered whether he would say anything regarding his appearance (every muscle in his body was clenched with the effort of not shaking), but Jiao only started walking back towards the castle. "I'll tell the maids to heat your bath water," he said, plainly understanding, and disappeared back into the palace.

Gaius waited a few more pointless moments in his garden as freezing flakes began to fall, mostly in the interest of not seeming like he was in a hurry to get out of the cold—but as he finally walked into the hall, before he could open the door to his room so he could slip out of his pants and into his bath, Wingul ambushed him.

"Are you still going to invite the Rat into your palace?" he asked, leaning against the wall and meeting his eyes seriously. "Just because she'll be more trustworthy by your side than she is right now doesn't mean she's reliable to begin with." There was still something he wasn't telling him—but until Wingul could be candid with his king, it wasn't Gaius's problem.

"Wingul," he growled, unable to keep a tone of warning out of his voice. He didn't have the patience to deal with an unruly second-in-command, especially when there was a warm bath awaiting. "I _will_ see Mink this evening, and you will _not_ complain. In fact, you will stay by my side at all times from dinner onward," he added, to ensure he wouldn't sneak off and cancel the appointment. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Your Highness," muttered Wingul after a long and heavy pause, clearly resentful, and turned around before finally stalking away, leaving Gaius to his much-desired bath.

* * *

Mink had never worked so hard to make herself beautiful as in the afternoon preceding her visit with the king. Immediately after waking up, she sank into a hot bath, soaking away her troubles and scrubbing off every speck of dust. Every inch of her was smooth and hairless by sunset, and smelled of roses. Her hair was carefully brushed and arranged into its cat-ear style; her spirit-operated tail functioned perfectly.

Now there was the problem of what she was going to _wear_.

Towel around her waist, Mink investigated the expansive contents of her closet. Gaius was the king of Auj Oule; the occasion demanded a certain amount of modesty. If she implied subservience through her clothing, then perhaps any slip-ups in attitude might be forgiven. That ruled out a few of her more risque choices; she mournfully skipped over a particularly striking blue outfit kept in place only by several sets of crossed laces. _Too bad. I wanted to break that one in…_

So, something that actually covered her up decently. That narrowed her options considerably… What else did she want? Something easy to take off, just in case. Pawing through her clothes desperately, since that eliminated almost all the rest of her outfits, a glimpse of smooth dark raspberry caught her eye, and she pulled it out by its hanger.

Perfect! A silken, _almost_ translucent sleeveless dress. Though it hung to the floor—the only one of her dresses that did so—there was a slit on the right that would allow her leg to peek out if she moved the right way, and it was a fairly low-cut gown. Every edge was lined in black, from the armholes to the hem.

A smile tugged at her lips as she set the dress aside and delicately picked out a set of dark lace undergarments, donning them a moment later. They'd barely be visible under her dress, but no king who swung her way would be able to keep his eyes from trying to discern their exact shape anyway.

Well, Mink _hoped _he swung her way. She knew little about his private life, only that he was widely considered a perfect ruler, and that didn't say much about his actual personality or preference.

Anyhow, all that was left was makeup, and that was easy enough. A little bit of durable mascara, a touch of smoky eyeshadow at the corners, just a dab of raspberry on the lips to remind him of her dress—which would in turn remind him of what lay beneath it—and she was good to go.

Mink pulled on her stockings and laced her knee-high black boots, smirking in anticipation and giving her spellbook a few final, loving strokes. She could remember a few in case she needed them. Whether summoned for praise or execution, she would certainly not be caught with her pants down.

_That_ part could wait until a little bit later, if all went well…

* * *

Wingul was plainly on edge. Whatever he wasn't telling Gaius was apparently eating him alive, because he was much more fidgety than his usual stoic self. With crossed arms, he tapped first his foot and then his fingers. Though the noise was muffled, the sound bored into Gaius's ears until he could barely stand it. Just as he was about to tell him to either stop or leave—

"She's late," hissed Wingul, not looking at his king.

"…It's three minutes past seven," sighed Gaius, checking the clock before shaking his head at his right-hand man. "What is wrong with you?" Had he met her before? Gaius debated asking, but Wingul seemed startled enough by the first question as it was. He would save it for if his next response didn't reveal the cause.

There was a long and somewhat awkward silence.

"You know what the Rats… _do_, right?" Wingul finally asked, meeting Gaius's eyes with an effort. "_How_ they obtain their information? It's no simple interrogation. You're inviting a whore into court."

Oh… so _that _was what this was about. The Long Dau had always been ridiculously proper about such things, particularly the nobility. Perhaps it was because Gaius had grown up in the much less formal and much less 'civilized' Outway clan that he thought of prostitution so differently from Wingul.

(For spirits' sake, he had paid for one in celebration of overthrowing Merad, and never regretted a cent. It wasn't his fault Wingul was too reserved to bother! Maybe if he tried it, he wouldn't think it was so bad after all…)

"…Yes," said Gaius evenly, resisting the urge to sigh. "I do." He had no doubt Jiao would agree with his views, if only he were here—but he had said it would be most prudent for the king to see her alone, or with only one other. He neglected to give the reason why, but didn't seem particularly uncomfortable about it.

"People will talk," responded Wingul, clearly scandalized. "They'll think she's to be your consort, or worse, that you're hiring her for her services. You may not be married, Your Highness, but to solici—"

"I _am _hiring her for her services," retorted Gaius, interrupting. "Just not the ones they imagine. Now, I'll hear no more on the matter. She may be here at any moment, and you will not disrespect any guest of mine."

Wingul merely dipped his head and fell silent, not a moment too soon.

"Your Highness," called one of the guards stationed outside the throne room, sounding concerned. "A young woman is here, claiming that you sent for her. She refuses to disclose her identity. What are your orders?"

"Send her in," commanded Gaius, giving a meaningful look to Wingul, who shook his head and refused to hold his king's gaze. Only when Mink stepped meekly into the room did he fully understand why.

Her hands were clasped in front of her, her eyes on the ground in front of her as though submissive, but there was an unmistakable confidence in her bearing. Something enticing flowed in her dress along with the swaying of her hips; unless he was much mistaken, it was just the tiniest bit transparent. A gap on the right side of her dress revealed her right leg with every other step—bare but for a high-heeled boot. There was an unmistakable suggestivity to her motion as she sank to her knees.

"Your Highness," prompted Wingul after a pause while the king regarded her; his second-in-command sounded distinctly resentful. Gaius started, eyes forcing themselves to her face; she looked as though she was trying to suppress amusement. _Did she say something?_ "Mink wants to know why you summoned her."

"Ah," said Gaius, embarrassed, and she looked up at him briefly before casting her eyes down again. "Please, don't feel obliged to kneel," he added carefully. Her attire was distracting enough as it was without adding such a position to the mix, with her dress stretched tight and revealing such a smooth thigh—

"As you wish, Your Highness," responded Mink, in a naturally hoarse voice that verged on the sultry, and Gaius blinked a few times as she straightened up, smoothing her hands quickly against her flat stomach. Wingul made a noise that might have been either derisive or involuntary in the back of his throat, shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot.

"I've asked you here this evening because you've obtained more useful information than any of our spies in any of our divisions," said Gaius eventually, and Mink glanced up, a tiny and _almost _shy smile on her lips, tinted a few shades lighter than her dress. "And I believe you can do better than staying within the Rats. But… I have one question before I pose an offer for you."

"Oh?" asked Mink, and her voice was practically a purr as her pale brown eyes dared to glance up into his briefly before darting to the floor again. "What is it?" She readjusted her glasses swiftly, timidly, and Gaius practically forgot before reminding himself of her job. Oh, she was a clever one. There was something ever-so-slightly off about her submissiveness; she'd take control if he only gave her an opportunity.

But Gaius was king for a reason. If he relinquished dominance so easily, he wouldn't have stayed in charge of Auj Oule for seven years. "When I traced the information about the new weapon, your superiors seemed less than eager to supply your identity," he began carefully, and an infinitesimal frown spasmed across Mink's face, so quickly he almost missed it. "Do you know why?"

There was a long pause before Mink glanced directly into Gaius's face as though searching it, abandoning all façade of diffidence, and finally sighed. "About a year ago, maybe a little more, I revealed a considerable amount of sensitive information about myself and my colleagues to a Rashugal insider."

Gaius nodded, deep in thought, though saw Wingul shaking his head in his peripheral vision. "And you survived?" he asked eventually. He had thought the Rats were very harsh with those among them who let too much slip. It would be a liability to let them live, to hear their leader tell it.

She finally dropped her gaze, her shyness no longer false. "Those I informed on were caught and executed. I was tortured, but the one I told… ensured that I lived." She hesitated. "I was… threatened with death or worse several times, and some even tried to make good on those threats. Even when I started retrieving valuable information no one else could get their hands on… well, the Rats don't just forgive and forget."

This new information weighed Gaius's tongue down as well as his mind. To fill the silence, Wingul spoke up, crossing his arms. "And why should we trust you?" he asked, staring down at her with barely veiled dislike.

Mink glanced up at him momentarily, face expressionless, and gave no response. As Wingul opened his mouth, ostensibly to repeat the question, she cut him off with an oddly gentle murmur: "I didn't ask to be summoned here so I could prove my worth. Ask your king what he sees in me."

Gaius had the misfortune to look up as she was adjusting her neckline, drawing his attention to the regions that there adjacent lay, and jerked his eyes up to hers immediately afterwards—but found that they were still trained on Wingul. He shot a look at his second-in-command to find that his eyes were locked with hers in something of a silent challenge.

"…Mink," he said, breaking their connection as they both turned their attention back to him. "How old were you when you made the mistake that cost so many lives?" She couldn't be more than twenty-five now, he reasoned; despite all the sensuality of her appearance, there was something distinctly youthful about her.

It took a long time for her to answer; she glanced at Wingul momentarily before looking up at her king once more. "Eighteen, Your Highness," she responded, very quietly, and Gaius's eyes widened. Was she truly so young? Perhaps it was just the vibrant silk, but she seemed a little more mature than your average nineteen-year-old.

"Then your error was because of your naïvete," remarked Gaius, raising his eyebrows. "You've learned much in the last two years, if you've achieved fairly detailed knowledge concerning the development of a new military weapon—and survived."

"I like to think so, yes," was Mink's response, accompanied by a slight smile, and Gaius felt his mouth reciprocating without his consent. What magic was she weaving?

He shifted in his throne. "Hear my proposal," he commanded. "I will offer you a place by my side if you continue to act as a spy for the good of Auj Oule. Make a mistake that results in the injury of even one of my citizens, and I will permit your Rats to do with you what they please." He paused as she looked up, fear flashing momentarily in her eyes. "Until then, you will be under my protection, as part of my elite guard."

"Your Highness," sighed Mink, somewhere between reverent and suggestive, and took a cautious set of steps closer to the throne. Wingul laid a hand on the hilt of his katana, and she halted abruptly as she glanced over at him, annoyance sparking momentarily in her gaze.

"Do you accept?" asked Gaius, when she said nothing more.

"Are there any other conditions, besides continuing to provide you with whatever knowledge you need?" asked Mink, edging forward to stand at the very base of the steps leading up to his throne. "I can fight tolerably well. And… my skillset, as you know, lies in _all_ steps of the Rats' chosen process, not only in extracting information."

Gaius swallowed involuntarily as her hands toyed with the slit in her gown, ever-so-slightly revealing a garter.

"…You must choose a new name and epithet to symbolize your change in allegiance," he said, looking sideways at Wingul to find he was regarding her busy fingers through eyes narrowed in suspicion with a hungry edge.

"A new name," repeated Mink thoughtfully, taking a tentative seat on the steps before him, and when neither Gaius nor Wingul objected to her new position, she clasped her hands around her knees and threw her head back to regard the ceiling.

Her lips pursed and un-pursed, inaudibly trying out different titles, and the simple motion of silent speech was captivating. However, Gaius quickly realized that he was staring and hastily turned his eyes on Wingul instead: though his expression was inscrutable, his eyes were still trained on Mink, plainly taking in more than just her face.

"Presa," she said eventually, looking up resolutely. "Of the Hundred Spells."

"A channeler," remarked Wingul dismissively, before Gaius could react to either of her names of choice. "Then you have no physical weapons."

"I don't need physical weapons to be able to fight, which is more an advantage than anything, if you ask me," responded Presa, raising an eyebrow delicately. She removed her arms from around her knees and allowed her long legs to straighten out comfortably; she was making herself right at home.

"No one _is _asking you," retorted Wingul, his hand moving automatically to the hilt of his katana. Presa's eyes followed it, and a somewhat amused smile graced her face as she got to her feet and sashayed over to him (Gaius struggled not to take in her equally magnificent back view as she cornered Wingul).

"I've seen many a man's sword from as many angles as you please," she hissed, prodding Wingul in the chest, "and yours is hardly the most impressive. Prove to me that you can use it, and maybe I'll change my mind. And you, Your Highness," she added more audibly, whirling around as Wingul opened his mouth furiously (but could not respond). "What's _your_ sword like?"

"I use a masamune in battle," responded Gaius, raising his eyebrows. By no means was he oblivious to her innuendo, but the only way to respond to such things was to answer in a straightforward fashion and feign ignorance. That had been the way he had dealt with such things for years, and it hadn't failed him yet.

But now that record was about to be broken, apparently, as Presa merely gave an unperturbed, catlike smile. "Overcompensating?" she purred, leaning against the throne and completely ignoring Wingul, who wavered awkwardly in the background before finally turning around and storming off.

"I've heard that before," he muttered, unable to suppress a somewhat rueful smile. That was one of the most popular jokes in the kingdom, after all, after the one about dogs with no noses.

Moistening her lips, Presa leaned closer slowly, and his heart sped up. "And how do you prove them wrong?" she asked, her voice a whisper tickling his ear: he shuddered pleasurably, his mind beginning to shut down. He wanted it. She wanted him to want it. There was no reason in the world why he should resist, now that Wingul was gone.

He let out a halting sigh as she slipped onto the throne to sit next to him. Something in the back of his mind urged him to send her away before things got any more intense, but the order would not form properly.

"I…" began Gaius uncertainly, his voice husky—but a response was not necessary as Presa slid her hand around to the back of his neck and guided their mouths together.

* * *

No—Gaius was most definitely _not_ overcompensating. Presa smiled as she crept out of the darkened throne room, ecstasy still throbbing through her body, muscles already beginning to ache pleasantly. For being someone so set on his duties, he really knew how to give a girl some royal treatment. (Even if he swore that was the first and last time he would ever take her, lest things get too complicated… well, she still wouldn't part with the memory of this evening for anything.)

It was, of course, a tremendous ego boost that she had succeeded in seducing the king, but doing so had its practical uses too. Now that Presa knew he was only human after all, she could repeat that act if things went south, and maybe she'd be able to wriggle out of a steeper punishment in case of any slip-ups on her part.

Walking softly—if unevenly—towards the chamber of fire, boots in hand, Presa turned her stockinged feet towards the hall on the left. Gaius had said hers would be the _first _door on the _left_ side of the _left_ hall, from what she could remember—but only because he accented key words with thrusts, and even the most slippery of minds would not be able to relinquish that memory.

She rested a hand on her doorknob and turned her wrist. Locked.

"Going somewhere?" asked a snide yet stoic voice, and Presa glanced up to find the man known as Wingul leaning against the wall, twirling a keychain around his finger boredly. She sighed, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, and adjusted the strap on her dress with deliberate sensuality. _May as well make him squirm._

"Yes," replied Presa, looking up at him and meeting his eyes as she dropped her boots in a gesture of peace. "To bed."

"You've already been there tonight," retorted Wingul, his eyes following her shoes. "In the throne room." Hurt wasn't quite the emotion in his voice, nor jealousy, but she made a mental note to play on those tones.

Presa raised her eyebrows, taking one experimental step towards him and relishing his momentarily unnerved expression. "You think I forced the king to slide his hands around my back and draw me into his lap?" she whispered. "You think, against his will, I made him take off his jacket and loosen his pants?"

"You _let _him," he corrected disgustedly, raising his lip in the beginnings of a snarl.

"Is that wrong?" countered Presa, smirking.

"Yes!" exclaimed Wingul, and the vehemence of his response startled her. "Yes, that is wrong! He is your monarch; _you_ are—" He stopped short, apparently unable to find a word worse enough to describe her. She saw several choice ones pass through his eyes.

"His Highness invited me to serve on his personal guard, same as you," reminded Presa tartly, when he could not finish the sentence. "A request which I have accepted. I am now your _equal_." She said the word slowly, as patronizingly as she dared.

"Once a Rat, always a Rat," he muttered, looking away from her as though even the sight of her was offensive.

Presa smiled faintly. "Yes, I've heard that before," she murmured, taking another step closer and meeting his eyes with a clear challenge. "I wonder, is this jealousy? Am I treading on your territory? Do you long for the evenings when the last visitor leaves, so you can take your everyday subservience one step further and finally put your lips around his—"

She ducked—too late. Presa staggered and fell before she even registered the back of Wingul's hand smarting on her cheek; had his fist been closed, the blow might have broken her jaw. Eyes watering in pain, she raised her fingers to touch her numb nerves, but would not allow Wingul the satisfaction of seeing her quite literally beaten at his hands.

"My apologies, _sir_," she simpered, curling herself into a suggestive position. "I see I was mistaken." She paused before continuing quickly, "You must be the one on _top_, then, of the two of you. But I wouldn't have imagined a man such as His Highness to be so easily domina—"

She was cut off abruptly once more as Wingul rested a threatening boot on her throat. It took her a moment to find the courage to continue, but she was not about to let him win when he thought of himself as so superior. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was arrogance. It reminded her too much of Al.

"Why, Wingul, I didn't know you liked this sort of thing," purred Presa, her words somewhat strangled, and shifted her body to spread herself out before him like a feast. But his eyes would not be drawn away from hers; she sighed, wondering at his restraint. Oh, she _adored_ a challenge.

Perhaps she'd better frame it a different way…

"What will it take for you to give me my key?" asked Presa eventually, breaking the connection between their eyes to stare at the bit of silver in his hand; his foot shifted in the boot pressed against her neck.

Wingul gave the ghost of a smile. "Apologize."

"What for?" asked Presa innocently. "I've done so much to offend you, I wouldn't know where to start. My birth? My upbringing? My mistake? My arrival in court? My conquest of _your _king?" She was very careful to keep her implications light, now that she was in such a precarious position; the last thing she needed was a crushed windpipe.

He narrowed his eyes. "Tell me your motives, then."

Presa tapped his boot cautiously; it didn't move. "Can I say them without fear of asphyxiation?" she ventured, and was promptly gifted with more pressure instead of less, though it lessened again after a moment. (Wingul, meanwhile, smiled faintly.)

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "You got me. I want… the protection from the other Rats that working directly for the king offers me," she said, as though confessing a heinous crime. "And I want the _key_ you're holding," she added, more pointedly. "I've fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now, you fulfill yours."

Wingul removed his boot from her neck and sank to one knee to look her in the eye, fingers turning the key over and over. "Hark, the mighty Ebon Wing stoops to my level," remarked Presa, propping herself up on her elbows and tilting her head. "What is it this time? Another condition for me to meet before you give it to me?"

She smiled and sat up as his expression hardened; he gave no response.

"Well, if you insist," added Presa with a mock sigh, moving her skirt up slowly and watching his eyes flick to the motion of her gown. "His Highness already got the best of me, of course," she continued, smiling as his eyes continued their journey up her legs, "but you can have the leftovers if you—"

"Have you _no_ decency, Rat?" spat Wingul, wrenching his gaze back to her eyes—but he neither closed nor lengthened the small distance between them. "You seduced the king, and now you try to seduce me within the same hour! By Long Dau custom, if a woman beds a man, she must marry him."

"Then by Long Dau custom, I'd have about a hundred husbands at this point," retorted Presa. "And you have no wife, I notice," she added, smiling knowingly. "How will you prove my accusations involving the king are unfounded?"

Wingul grasped her chin in something of a harsh caress. "By letting you have your way with me?" he breathed, searching her eyes carefully. She could almost taste the scent of napples, and leaned forward instinctively. "I don't think so, Presa of the Hundred Spells."

His other hand grazed her collarbone, and Presa shivered, senses sharpening half against her will; there had been no such light touches with the king—but, before she could lean forward the last inch, something warm and metal slipped into her dress: Wingul, true to his word, had given her the key.

He released her chin without a word and got to his feet, turning his back. Presa followed suit, shaking out her dress and picking the key off the floor when it inevitably fell. By the time she straightened up to fit it in the lock, Wingul was already walking down the hall.

"…Thank you," said Presa, grudgingly. No matter what else he had put her through, he _had _given her the key. Wingul stopped and turned his head slightly to the side, plainly surprised for her gratitude (however halfheartedly it was bestowed).

"I don't trust you," was his only response before he continued on his way.

Presa merely smiled, turning the key and entering her room. She would have no fear of assassins tonight, she reflected, locking the door again and falling onto her bed, pleasantly drowsy from her time on the throne. But, however much euphoria Gaius had afforded her, her thoughts were more preoccupied with Wingul.

There was plenty of time to find a way of getting to him, she thought, drifting gradually into comfortable unconsciousness. Even he couldn't be as cold as he let on, no matter how much he apparently disliked her. There had to be _some_ way of persuading him to give in.

This was the beginning of a beautiful alliance…


End file.
